Killers in the Nation
by SaintAugustana
Summary: Joey and Sydney Salvador, her best friend, now under Gibbs' care as a foster child, decide to visit a dangerous part of town in pursuit of musical adventure. Warning: spanking/corporal punishment of minors.
1. Tickets to See The Killers

Sydney heard the sound of a moped zipping down the avenue only seconds before the front door was shoved open, bouncing against the wall and leaving a dent. The bang startled him and he was up off the living room couch in a second, Issue #21 of Superman flying off his chest.

"Did you get 'em?"

"I got 'em!" Joey shouted from the hall. She dumped her jacket and scarf and ran into the living room.

"The last two of the last 50 of the last 100 tickets to see The Killers tomorrow night _can you believe it?_!" Joey whooped, waving the prize strips of paper in the air. Syd snatched one and they pumped fists.

"What the hell!"

Joey pivoted just as Gibbs nearly dropped his three overloaded paper grocery bags. She caught one as it slipped from his arms.

"What happened to my _wall?_"

"You know, Gibbs, you really should tighten those door hinges," Joey ventured, grinning innocently.

Gibbs kicked the front door shut with his foot and headed towards the kitchen, mumbling something about the hinges needing to be tightened on his goddaughter's screwed-loose head.

"Help me put this stuff away, guys. Joey, unload. Sydney-"

"-bag and tag, got it, Boss." He tossed a sloppy salute toward Gibbs, who just smiled and cuffed him lightly on the head as he passed. It had only been a couple of months since he'd taken the boy into his home as a certified foster father, but they'd grown to accept the roles they'd ideally been meant to play to each other, and there had been no real trouble thus far, outside of the fact that Syd was much like Joey and Joey much like Syd in that it wasn't unusual for pranks to be pulled and innocent mischief to be gotten into. Yes, despite both of their recently tormented pasts, they behaved quiet normally for abnormal 13-year-olds.

And Gibbs thanked his lucky stars that Joey thought of Syd more as a brother and less like a father's worst nightmare.

"Plans tonight?" Gibbs' reverie ended when the smell of coffee burst from the machine. He poured himself a mug and took a swig.

"We're going to see The Killers at eight," Joey answered, piling cans into the pantry.

"Where?"

Sydney stopped sorting cans.

"Uhm," Joey straightened her back and rubbed her hands on her jeans. "Nation."

"Nation," Gibbs repeated.

Joey glanced nervously at Sydney. "Y'sir."

"_East _Nation?"

"I think so, yeah."

"No way, Joey."

"But, Gibbs!"

"_No_, Joey!"

"It'll be fine! What could happen? We'll take the Metro there, watch the concert and take the Metro back here, no big deal!"

"No, Joey. Nation is one of the worst parts of the city. You have no idea how many of the bastards I've put away were put away because of screw-ups in _Nation!_"

"But it'sThe _Killers!_" Joey pleaded. Gibbs scowled.

"That's the name of the band, Gibbs! No pun intended! It's a coincidence!"

"I don't believe in coincidences. No concert. End of discussion."

"But-"

"_End _of discussion."

Joey slumped back against the counter and sighed. "Alright."

Gibbs paced around the island and pulled her into a hug. "It's for your own safety, kiddo."

He planted a kiss on her head and headed towards the basement.

When he was gone, Joey turned to resume unloading groceries, but Syd's hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"Boy, has he got you whipped."

She shrugged off his hand and stooped back down in the pantry.

"What are you talkin' about?"

"You know what I'm talking about. Come on, Jo – it's the last 2 of the last 50 of the last 100 tickets to see The _Killers_. Do you know how _big_ this is?"

"That's what she said."

"Dammit, Joey, come _on_. You've been marking down the calendar days for this for _weeks_."

"Don't remind me. Just forget about it, Syd, you heard him."

"Like I said, _whipped._"

Joey stood up.

"You know I want to go, but do you realize how much trouble we'll be in if AND _when_ he finds out?"

"What makes you think he'll find out?"

"It's his _job?_"

"So we'll be careful. I'll think of a plan or something."

Joey didn't look convinced.

"Hey," Sydney whispered, "even if he _does_ find out – don't you think it'll be worth it? The _Killers_, man, The _Killers_!"

Steadily, Joey's skepticism turned to a small, excited smile plastered across her face.

"Sydney Salvador, I swear to God, if I'm not whipped now we'll both be by the end of this..."

The boy just shook his head and chuckled.


	2. The AfterLife of the Party

Later that afternoon, Joey fell asleep reading in the room she and Sydney shared. She was dozing fitfully when Sydney knocked and gently opened the door, trailed by Gibbs. Syd flopped down on his own bed while Gibbs paced to Joey's, fondling her unruly hair, trying to rouse her.

"Joey."

"Mmmm?" She groaned, opening her eyes.

"Tony just called with a breakthrough on a cold case. I've got to be in Quantico in twenty minutes."

"But it's Saturday." She mumbled, sitting up.

"The killers don't care what day it is."

Sydney stifled a chuckle.

"I've already told Syd – I'll be back in the tonight, late. Don't stay up eating junk food and watching movies. There's leftover spaghetti in the fridge."

"'kay."

Gibbs kissed her on the head and headed for the door, tousling Sydney's hair as he passed.

"And _behave._"

"Aw, Gibbs, have faith," Syd grinned.

-------------

At half-past seven that evening, Joey and Sydney donned their concert clothes (which, for the former entailed dark blue jeans, a navy Killers t-shirt and zip-up hoodie, and for the latter, plaid shorts and a basketball jersey over a wifebeater).

They jogged to the Metro station and caught the next train to Nation.

They boarded the train again at a quarter-past eleven boasting about their souvenir merchandise and Row 4 tickets to a troupe of 20 or thirty other kids and teens.

One of them suggested a little "after-concert get-together."

--------------

"Tony, this isn't a stakeout. Why are we stopping for coffee?"

"Gibbs asked us to check on Jo and Syd and I take any job from the Bossman _very_ seriously, Probie."

McGee sighed audibly as Tony paid the pretty night cashier and pulled out of the Starbuck's drive-through towards Gibbs' neighborhood.

"Here-" he shoved a pair of binoculars into McGee's fumbling hands as he pulled the black volvo to a stop in front of the house and put it in Park.

"See anything?" He mumbled around the straw of his double mocha frappuchino.

"No, Tony. The only lights on are the ones in the living room, and the curtains are draw-"

But Tony was no longer in the car.

"Tony?"

McGee jumped when he heard a rapping at his window, letting out a yelp and opening the door.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Tony?" He scowled, tossing the binoculars into the seat and getting out of the car. "I knew there was a reason Gibbs gave _me_ the key. Let's just go in and make sure they're in bed-"

"Shut up, McGeek," Tony ordered quietly, a smile on his face. "You hear something?"

"Tony, it's la-"

"Listen."

Tim glared at his partner but fell silent.

Sure enough, a tell-tale bassline reached his tuned ears, followed by a ringing guitar solo, made tinny by the distance and brick walls of the house.

Dinozzo and McGee paced furtively across the lawn and onto the porch, voices of manic partygoers and stereo noise becoming clearer the closer they got. To the left, beneath an open window, a lamp lay in pieces on the porch, bulb shattered. Tim was about to poke the doorbell when Tony dragged him back by the arm.

"Tony!"

"There's a good way and a bad way to do this, Probie."

"Tony-" McGee reached for the bell but Tony yanked him back again.

"Wait, wait!" He whispered forcefully. "Think of it like this: they've all already broken Rule No.1, and, uh, if we give them even a split-second heads-up, they'll scatter."

"You really enjoy this, don't you?"

"I speak from a purely professional angle, McGeek. Step aside, senior field agent coming through."

Tony took a tentative glance through the peephole, drew his sig sauer, and raised his right foot.

"Tony, what are you-"

"Ssssh. Just gonna scare 'em a little!"

"Tony!"

BAM. Tony kicked the door open and blasted into his boss's living room, startling the living daylights out of a flock of hooligans, who backed away (some of them tripping over furniture, one of them accidentally breaking a glass ornament sitting precariously on an end table) abruptly. Tony cut the music. '

"Alright! All of you, sit down! Over there, on the floor, NOW!"

Tim grimaced as he stepped into the room. Joey and Sydney, who had been retrieving refreshments from the refrigerator, ducked down behind a group of kids now huddled by the barstools.

"Dinozzo, put the damn gun away," Gibbs' voice rose above the clamor of chatter.

"Oh, _shit_," Sydney whispered.

Joey gulped.

Tony holstered his gun. "Boss?"

Gibbs ignored him. He had his eyes fixed upon the mass of teenagers peppering the previously unsoiled floors of his living room, searching for two (hopefully) ashamed expressions. "McGee called me."

"Tony, take McGee home. I'll see the both of you Monday morning."

"Okay, Boss, if you're sure you've got everything under-"

Gibbs shot him a look of pure don't-you-start and his agents shuffled out the door.

He turned his attention back towards the miscreant strangers in his house, and in a dangerously low tone, proceeded, "as for the rest of you, you can either go out that door," he popped a thumb behind him toward the front door, "or you can follow my lamp out the window."

Nobody moved, save for the minute twitches of the round, frightened eyes of deer-in-the-headlights expressions.

Only two faces were not focused on Gibbs or the gun and badge at his waist. Gibbs spotted Joey and Sydney's mussed brown-haired heads in the back.

Sydney was cringing, his hands sweaty around the bottle of bourbon he'd retrieved from the basement.

Joey sat silent and expressionless, waiting for the axe to fall.


	3. Trouble to the Nth Degree

"OUT, NOW!"

An extremely tense second passed, then, suddenly, there was a mad scramble to get to the front door. The kids scooted around Gibbs as if he were enclosed in a bubble with a 3-foot radius and shoved each other out of the way, down the path to the street.

Joey and Syd attempted to sidle out as well, ready to run for it, to deal with _anything_ but Gibbs' wrath.

"_Not. You two._"

Joey swallowed.

Gibbs snatched his ward goddaughter and foster son by their collars and yanked them back, doing everything in his power to keep from shaking them like badly behaved dogs.

He waited until the last of them had filed out before releasing them.

"Clean this up. I'll be in the basement."

And with that, he paced off, leaving a shaken Syd and a confused Joey in his wake.

---

It wasn't until twenty-three minutes into the cleaning of the living room that either Joey or Sydney spoke to one another. When they got to chatting, it was in whispered, abashed tones. Neither of them could believe how many bottles and cans of beer or other alcohol had been obviously consumed and then dumped unceremoniously on the hardwood floors, which Joey was scrubbing on hands and knees while Syd shuffled about with a black garbage bag, collecting debris.

The party had gotten out of hand.

"This wasn't supposed to happen, Syd."

Sydney dumped the bag in the corner and shook open another one.

"We never should have gone – I told you, man, I _told _you."

"Look on the bright side – he doesn't seem as mad as you seemed to think he would seem..."

Joey stood up and threw the her dishrag to the floor.

"Look, Salvador – you haven't been here that long. What's the worst thing Gibbs' has ever done to you?"

Sydney fumbled his words, cheeks flushing red as he remembered that occasion. "What about two weeks ago?"

"Big _whoop-dee-_doo – don't pretend that was bad, I heard him smacking you, maybe...what? 15 times?"

"Hey, it still _hurt!_"

"Don't you _get_ it! We are so _dead!_ He's gonna flay us alive, I've never done anything like this..." She trailed off, running her hands through her hair. "My god, I've never done anything like this..."

"Joey, I-I'm..."

But he didn't have time to finish before Gibbs' emerged from the basement stairs and paced into the living room.


	4. Taking Blame

There was absolutely no way in hell the kids were going to weasel their ways out of the mess they were in. At least the living room got clean. The wooden floors were wafting that light, pine-sol smell. The couches reaked of a bit-too-much Febreze, like someone had quit paying attention to the spray but continued squeezing the nozzle, and save for the obnoxious black trash bags piled in the corner, it appeared pretty much exactly as he'd left it.

Joey let her hands fall to her sides and shoved them into her pockets. Sydney did the same. The air in the room almost tasted of unspoken apologies and pleas for lenience. (Gibbs silently thanked his lucky stars – and theirs- that they weren't going to make this any worse than it already was.)

"Upstairs," he ordered levelly.

Like criminals marching to the gallows, the little imps clunked upstairs. Gibbs watched as they ascended, listening to the scuffing of worn-out all-stars as they headed for their beds.

He took an exhausted glance around the room before slinging the trash bags over his shoulder and dumping them in the bin outside by the curb.

He checked the kitchen and jotted down a list of food and drinks missing (mostly sodas, chips, and otherwise party-esque foods) his two miscreants would have to pay for.

He straightened out a frame hanging on the wall and sighed, rubbing calloused fingers against the image behind the glass: him, seven years ago, at the batting cages. A little girl with a wiry frame and big smile, maybe six or seven years old, retrieving baseballs from the outfield stood before him, holding out her catch. Gibbs picked her up by the underarms and swung her around in circles, laughing.

"That's my girl!"

Somewhere, the crowd was going wild.

"Gibbs?"

"Yeah, baby?"

He pulled his head away from that vivid memory and turned around to see a thirteen-year-old where the six-year-old had been some years before. She had that same beyond-guilty look, borderline _ashamed. _He remembered the only other time he'd seen that – when she was eight or nine and had confessed to picking the lock on the case which held his prized sniper rifle. (He had since put it away in a secret place.)

What might she want to say? _I'm sorry?_ She knew better. _I was wrong?_ Yes, she was. _I can explain?_

No. Instead, a big surprise.

Joey straightened out a bit, as if inflating with an ever-so-slight amount of courage, and Gibbs could tell she'd been silently mustering it up. Gibbs met her halfway into the living room and they stood across from each other at ends of the coffee table. She seemed to sway a bit to the left, and Gibbs wondered if he should be calling 911 about alcohol poisoning of a minor.

"At 7:30," she began, "we left the house. At 7:37, we got on the Metro, and rode it downtown, to Nation. The concert started around eight, and ended around eleven, and at 11:15 we got back on the Metro. There were...twentysomething people from the concert with us, mostly older kids."

She paused, shutting her eyes tight for a moment and licking her lips.

"Someone suggested throwing a party. A little party."

"Who?" Finally, Gibbs spoke.

She hesitated.

"Was it Sydney?" He pressed, advancing slightly. _ I knew it. I should have known that boy would end up as a bad influence. _"Did he send you down here to apologize?"

"He didn't send me down here."

"But he _did_ decide to throw the party?"

Joey sighed and swallowed. "No, Gibbs. I did."

Gibbs seemed to deflate. He stepped back and just looked at Joey, as if he were trying to read between the imaginary lines.

"I did." She met his gaze squarely, taking her hands out of her pockets. "We all got off the Metro and came here."

"And the beers?" Gibbs did not keep beer in the house. He drank coffee and bourbon, that was it. He kept the bourbon in the basement.

"Some kids crashed the party halfway through. They brought it."

He eyed her suspiciously for a moment, but decided she wasn't lying.

"Did you drink anything?"

No, Joey knew for a fact that both she _and_ Syd had had at least one can of Bud Light each.

"After the party started, yes."

"How much?"

"A can."

"And Sydney?"

"Don't know."

He cocked his head. "Why did I find my bottle of bourbon on the counter?"

"Was it open?"

"No."

"I brought it up from the basement."

There was a pause. Joey hung her head and waited, having said her piece.

"Alright. Upstairs."

"Yes, sir," she whispered obediently, turning away. When she reached the foot of the stairs, she looked back.

"And Gibbs?"

He directed his eyes away from the baseball photo and stared up at her.

"I'm sorry."

He just nodded, trying to hide his heavy swallow, and gestured with a tilt of his head toward the bedroom.


	5. Fish Out of Water

**Author's Note: Okay, I know you guys are getting antsy in anticipation of the end of this. I'm almost finished! Sorry for the suspense!**

Sydney jolted to his feet when the door popped on the hinges and opened up.

"What happened?" He inquired of a clearly cold-shouldered Joey. She pushed the door shut with a snap and plopped down on the edge of her bed, kicking her shoes off and laying down with her arms crossed under her head.

"Joey?" Syd followed suit and sat down on his bed.

She looked at him, blue-green eyes glassy.

"Don't worry about it."

"Don't- don't _worry _about it? We have school on Monday and I'd like to know if I'll need to skip because I can't sit down for a day."

Joey almost laughed at his insecurity. "It's gonna be a lot longer than a day, Syd."

His mouth fell open and he tried to form a coherent sentence, like a fish gasping for water.

She chuckled. "Calm down. I was kidding. You'll be fine."

"I thought we were in deeper than that," he proceeded, his voice barely above a whisper.

_We__ aren't, but __I__ am._

"I mean, isn't he angry?"

"Yeah," she admitted, resigned.

"Joey-"

"Just shut up, Sydney," she looked at him again. Despite the harsh words, no expression of frustration crossed her face. "He'll be up any minute. Enjoy it while it lasts."

And with that, she rolled away from him, turned her attention to various objects in the bedroom in a futile effort to keep her mind off the impending punishment.

Joey looked at the clock: 12:34 a.m. At least it was Friday night. They could sleep in in the morning.

Footsteps reverberated on the stairs, advancing down the hallway. Joey tossed her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Sydney seemed stuck in a trance, a deep convoluted pattern of thoughts, and did not move.

Gibbs entered. He'd changed into blue jeans and an NIS sweatshirt. A belt hung omnipotent from his right hand.

Sydney, who had been facing away, pivoted, stumbling off the bed into a standing position. Joey did no more than wince.

Gibbs took a seat on the armless chair by the bookshelf, depositing the belt on the floor in front of the chair.

"Sit down, the both of you." He snapped his fingers and pointed to the space before him.

Joey and Sydney exchanged confused glances and obeyed. The girl sat Indian-style, the boy reclined on his arms.

Jethro Gibbs leaned forward, feet planted firmly on the ground, hands entwined, elbows on his knees.

"Sydney," he coughed.

"Yeah, Gibbs?"

"Did you have anything to drink?"

He hesitated, but Gibbs had him pinned down with his patented 'glare.'

"Y-yes," he stammered.

"How much?"

"I had a can of Bud Light."

Gibbs rubbed the back of his neck, finding it odd that he had to brace _himself_ for the riot act he was about to dish out.

"Listen, guys – I realize this is difficult: my being busy with NCIS leaves you guys home alone a lot of the time-"

"We don't mind-"

"Yeah, it's your job, Gibbs, we-" they began to babble at the same time.

Gibbs held up a hand and they shushed themselves.

"Well, I can see you don't mind," he grinned. The heavy atmosphere in the room lightened a bit. "My _point_ is that you've been getting a bit rambunctious lately-"

"But Gibbs-"

"Hush. 'Rambunctious' as in more than usual." His face became serious again. "What you boneheads did tonight was way beyond acceptable. What's worse is that, despite who was in agreement with the situation-" he turned toward Sydney, "and who was not, neither of you made any attempts to stop twentysomething raging underage teenagers from brining alcohol into the house and tearing into my living room."

"There were only two of us," Joey protested.

"You could have called 911. You could have called me, or McGee, or-"

"Tony?" Joey finished.

Gibbs grimaced when he remembered seeing pictures of Tony's last big Spring Break party. No, Dinozzo and parties definitely did not mix. He made a mental note to deal with his agent's actions on Monday.

"Me or McGee. Tony...not so much. But yes, as a last resort, you could have called him."

"Gibbs?" Sydney put forth quietly.

"Yes, boy?"

"I understand if you don't want me to live here anymore."

Gibbs was struck by that. "Sydney Salvador, you listen to me," Gibbs started, his pointer finger fixed on the distressed child, hanging his head like a summer dragonfly against a winter wind. "I'm not in the habit of washing my hands of people just because they threw a party and drank a little. I would've lost Dinozzo by the first weekend," he chuckled.

The kids smiled.

"Joey here," he put his finger at her, "has gotten into more messes than I can remember. You're not going anywhere. Neither of you are going anywhere. Got it?"

Joey nodded, though the statement was meant more to satiate her counterpart-in-crime.

"Got it." Sydney looked up, his blue eyes glazed over with salty tears. He would never admit to crying, ever, but nobody had ever taken that much interest in him before. "Got it," he repeated, burying his head in his hands.

Gibbs let him be.

"This summer I should be home more often. When I'm _not_, you'll either be here with one of my people, no more pushover babysitters, or at NCIS with me, keeping your noses clean, you hear me? When I feel you have my trust again you can stay home alone again."

"Fair enough," Joey affirmed, both secretly excited about spending more days at NCIS (she loved the place) and helplessly dismayed she'd be under surveillance for the next few weeks.

Gibbs put a hand under each of their chins and lifted their gazes to him. "I have taken into account that the party was much worse when it ended than when it began."

And, to the surprise and shock of both Joey and Sydney, Gibbs bent down, picked up the leather strap, and put it back around his waist.

"Sydney, in the hallway."

He obeyed, momentarily, shooting a nervous glance at Joey as he walked backwards toward the door. She sent him a look of false reassurance – her stomach was churning with the pain of anticipation and relief.


	6. Michaela Joanne Grey

Sydney allowed the door to fall shut behind him with a foreboding snap, considering making a break for it, shoving a few possessions into a backpack and getting the hell outta Dodge, but that notion exploded into nothing more than wistful thinking when he realized he really had no clue about life on the streets. Gang life, yes, but that was nowhere near drop-dead-dog poverty, or having nothing.

He had something, now.

_And besides, both my possessions and the backpack are in that room_.

So he sighed and slid his back down the wall to wait.

_I hope this doesn't take too long_.

----

Gibbs pulled the bench away from the wall and straddled it. Joey stepped back and watched, hands behind her back in relaxed attention.

"Come here."

She approached his side.

"List," he said. Joey was familiar with the command.

"I disobeyed you by going to dangerous part of town. I endangered myself by drinking."

"And?"

She lifted her head. "And? Wha-"

"You forgot to add Lying."

"I didn't...I didn't lie about anything, Gibbs."

"Yes, you did."

She exhaled. Damn his gut instinct.

"Whose idea was it to start a party? Yours? Or Sydney's?"

_Damn you, Salvador._ Half of her wanted to go ahead and rat him out, let him take the what-was-sure-to-be-harsher walloping, but the other half couldn't, wouldn't. He wasn't used to someone caring enough about him to hug him every day or check his homework, let alone punish him, and she wasn't sure he'd cope well with that if he had to think about it for the next week, or however long it'd be before she could sit again.

_Oh, shut your face, Joey, you're exaggerating._

_No, no way. _

"I did," she affirmed, meeting his gaze squarely.

"You realize what I have to do now?" Gibbs had no evidence to prove or disprove her claim.

"Yes."

"You put yourself, Sydney, and all those other people in unnecessary danger by bringing them here. Some of them are drunk, and all of them are underage. One of them is being treated for alcohol poisoning, a thirteen-year-old girl."

Joey's next breath seemed to catch in her gut and she inhaled sharply.

"Joey – I haven't had to spank you in months. I've _never_ had to spank you for something like this. What the hell were you thinking when you disobeyed me? That I was kidding about how dangerous Nation is? That I wouldn't find out?"

Silence.

Gibbs tried to keep his patience in check. He was about to scold her when she spoke.

"I wanted to see the concert."

"And Joey, if it had been in _any_ other part of town, I would have taken you in a heartbeat."

"They might've not made it back to DC for months, or years. Until their next tour, and even then...maybe not."

"Joey..." he whispered, his voice heavy with concern. "Since when is your safety worth less than a musical group whose concert will no doubt be on a CD in every store by the end of the month?"

_Wow. Impressive_.

Gibbs saw her quirked look. "I'm just as surprised as you, believe me. Answer the question."

She mumbled something.

"What?"

"It's not."

"Then why?"

She sighed and let her eyes roam around the room. "I didn't think you'd find out."

"You didn't think that an all-night _party_ in my _living room_ would be noticed when I got home?"

"I...didn't think you'd be home." She hung her head.

There it was, the chips were down, strewn across the table for the both of them to gawk at.

"I told you I would be home late. I would never _not_ come home, Joey."

She shrugged. "Whatever... can we get this over with?" She had little to no desire to admit she was such a baby she couldn't put up with him being gone all the time.

"Michaela Joanne Grey."

Joey cringed. "Look, Gibbs, I just figured you wouldn't be back until the morning and the party would be over and we could have everything cleaned up in time, alright?"

"I told you I'd be back tonight."

"That's what you always say, and half the nights you say you'll be back you call and say you won't! That there's been a breakthrough, that you've got more evidence to review, that you're almost finished."

Gibbs seemed to shrink. "Is that what this is about? You feel ignored?"

"I don't know," she threw her hands up in defeat and carded them through her hair. "Last week, last week," she began to recollect, "I got into a fight at school, I broke curfew playing basketball at Seadog's, _and_ I failed my Spanish midterm. I also did all my chores and got an A on my Biology quiz. I would have _told_ you but you were busy! You're always busy!"

Gibbs was silent, deep in thought. He rested his chin on his closed fists. Joey's breathing slowed and she lost her bold composure. After a minute, Gibbs looked up suddenly and took hold of his goddaughter's arms, drawing her into a warm embrace. Joey, who'd been half-expecting to be tossed over his lap right then and there, leaned openly into the safety of the hug, her eyes beginning to glaze over with salty tears.

"Baby, I am so sorry."

For a brief moment, Joey thought she was dreaming. "What?"

He pulled her away from him so he could look at her directly. "I'm sorry," he stated again, very plainly. "I should never have thought that a phone call was a good enough substitute for actually being here."

Joey, crying silently, rushed into his chest, throwing her arms around his neck. "It's your j-job. Like you said, the killers don't care what day or what time it is."

"That's no excuse. I'm a father before I'm an NCIS agent."

"Gibbs?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry, too."

"I know."

"No, you don't -" she reclined on his lap, shamefaced. "I...I did lie. Sort of."

"Sort of?" He raised an eyebrow.

"About the party being my idea -"

Gibbs opened his mouth, wholly ready to get on Sydney's case, but she stopped him.

"No, before you say anything – I _did _start the party. I told everybody to come over."

_Ohhhhhhhh_. Gibbs understood now. "But it wasn't your _idea_."

"No," she admitted quietly. "Sydney suggested it to me on the train on the way back. I told him it was a bad idea. We argued, but he agreed. Then I remembered you were at work and probably wouldn't have found out, and I...sort of...wanted to...get back at you."

"It won't be like that anymore. I'll work regular hours and be home otherwise. You won't be alone."

Joey wiped a finger under her nose. "If only I wasn't such a baby..."

"That's enough," he commanded, albeit gently. She slid off his lap. "Fetch Syd and wait in the hallway until I call you. Get yourself together."

_Thank God for the small things_.

"Yes, sir. Please don't be too hard on him. It wasn't his call."

_Maybe not, but he sure didn't make any attempts to disconnect the phone line._

Joey exited the room. A few seconds later, Sydney paced in, clearly doing his best not to show his anxiety.


	7. Sydney Oliver Salvador

"Come here, son," Gibbs gestured him forward with a crook of his finger.

Sydney obliged, coming to a halt before the man. Gibbs respected the boundary line, the fact that boys were different than girls when it came to hugs and things like that. In more ways than one, Sydney Salvador was both desperate to become a man and desperate to experience the complete freedoms of being a regular kid, which, Gibbs supposed, included both the minor _and_ major misbehaviors.

That didn't make it acceptable.

"Whose idea was it to throw a party?"

Sydney coughed hesitantly. "Mine. I told Joey on the train that it might've been fun."

"What did she say?"

"She said it was second stupidest idea I'd had all evening, which was weird, because like ten minutes later she told everybody in our car that they could come over," he mused.

"Second stupidest?"

"What?"

"Is that what she said?"

"Uh...yeah."

"What was your first stupidest idea, Sydney Oliver Salvador?"

Syd had no giant issue with coming clean at this point. For the twenty seconds Joey and he were in the hallway together, she'd informed him that the only thing Gibbs _didn't_ know about was the beer and the cigarette Syd had blown through during The Killers' first set.

Sydney sighed. "I lied."

"About what?" Though Gibbs already knew what he was going to say, he pressed.

"When you asked if I'd had anything to drink."

"You _didn't_ have a can of Bud Light?"

"No. I had two. One at the concert and one here."

Gibbs scowled and let loose an exasperated exhalation of breath. He leaned back, looking around the bookshelf for some object. His fingers closed around a pencil on the third shelf and he held it inches from the boy's face.

"Follow this with your eyes."

"Gibbs, I'm not-"

"Do it, Sydney."

He did. His pupils were slightly dilated, but there seemed to be no stagger in his focus or much bloodshot.

"I'm not drunk, Gibbs. I had the first beer at the very beginning of the concert and the second one just after some people crashed the party. I..." he flushed, suddenly embarrassed. "I ended up with my face in the frickin' toilet an hour later, throwing my guts up."

Gibbs' eyes narrowed. The boy noticed his skepticism.

"I figured you would have found out if I was drinking, so I did what James Bond did in Casino Royale-"

"What?"

"You know, the new movie? Daniel Craig?"

Silence.

"Uhm...nevermind. I drank salt water to make myself throw up. I was already out of it, but I didn't think it would hurt."

Gibbs suddenly remembered his bourbon. Joey had stated she brought it up from the basement.

"Sydney, did Joey bring the alcohol from the basement?"

"The bourbon? She _said_ that? _I_ brought it up."

"How did you know where it was?"

_Uh-oh. If he _hadn't_ known where it was it meant that Joey told him, and he couldn't rat her out. On the other hand, if he _had_ known, it meant that he'd tapped into it before, and he hadn't. Rat Joey out or take a harder whipping?_

He sighed, ready to sacrifice himself. "I-"

The door being pushed open cut him off. "I told him where it was," Joey stepped in, sucking on her lower lip.

"Michaela Joanne Grey, what have I told you about eavesdropping?"

"Joey, what are you doing?" Sydney whispered through clenched teeth.

"Telling the truth. I told him where it was."

"After you knew he'd been drinking? After _you_ knew you'd been drinking, Syd, you went at got it, anyway?"

"No, I-"

"We-"

"Hold it!" Gibbs ordered. They fell silent.

"It wasn't for him," Joey said. "It wasn't for me, either."

"Then who was it for?"

"Nobody, Gibbs," she swallowed. "I was going to dump it."

_Okay, I am truly lost_.

"_Why?_"

"Because, like I said already, I wanted to get back at you. It was your 1939 mint bourbon."

"Ah. Well," he sat down. "It seems you're both so mixed up in each other's misbehavior you've made two messes into a giant pool of crap. You both disobeyed me by leaving the house, and I'm sure neither of you resisted going to the concert. Sydney, starting a party was your _idea_, but Joey, it was your idea to _start_ the party. You've both been drinking, and stealing, and lying."

"Stealing?"

"You _stole_ my bourbon, yes?"

"But we didn't do anything to it!"

"So if I hadn't come home, you wouldn't have dumped it?"

"No, we probably would have dumped it."

"I figured. Like I keep saying, the worst thing is that neither of you made any attempt to _end_ the party. No calls to the police, to the neighbors, to me...

"Yes,sir-"

"We're sorry, Gibbs-"

"I know. I swear, you kids make my hair grayer every day."

"That's kind of hard, Gibbs," Sydney countered, grinning.

"Imp." Gibbs reached out a hand and tickled his side before his face got serious again. "Alright, let's get the worst part out of the way so you guys can get some sleep."

They fell silent.

"Before you say anything, Gibbs, maybe I should tell you that I also smoked a cigarette at the concert. Somebody was offering, and I took one. Just one," Sydney put in."

Gibbs nodded. "Okay. Anything else?"

Joey and Sydney took tentative glances at each other, but shook their heads.

"Alright. Joey, you are grounded two weeks for fighting, and one week for missing curfew. Oh, why did you fail that quiz?"

"I didn't study."

"Did you have time?"

"Probably."

"Then it was your fault you failed it."

"Yes."

"So, two weeks for fighting, one for missing curfew, and you lose your allowance this month for failing a quiz."

"Yes sir," she replied miserably.

"Also," he began. She looked up, wondering what other infractions she may have forgotten she made. He smiled. "Good grades equal an allowance bonus, so your last punishment and that A just canceled each other out."

"Yes, sir," she replied, with a little happiness touching her voice.

"Sydney," he continued, "You are grounded for three weeks for drinking and smoking."

"Fair," he shrugged.

"The both of you are grounded for another week for failing to end the party, and you've both earned a spanking for disobeying me and lying."

There was a simultaneous gulp from the two of them.

"Joey, back in the hallway. If I catch you eavesdropping again I may rethink the allowance."

"Yes, sir." She left, pulling the door to a gentle close behind her.


	8. The Art of Being Reasonable

"Sydney."

The boy had been focused on the door, watching Joey leave. When he heard his name, his eyes went back to Gibbs, his foster father, his _only_ father.

"Come here," Gibbs ordered as he took a seat on the bed. Syd shuffled over.

"Lose the shorts."

He pulled them off, stumbling a bit as they got tangled around his ankles, glad he chose to wear his blue-striped boxers instead of his smiley-faced briefs that morning. That would have been truly embarrassing, and he wasn't feeling very smiley.

Gibbs was about to pull him over his knees but he protested. "Can I take off my sweater? I'm really hot."

His arm was released and he slid out of the thing, letting it fall to the floor.

"Come on."

Syd wiped his sweaty hands down the front of his basketball jersey. Gibbs took his arm and guided him over his lap, grabbing a pillow from the front of the bed and tucking it beneath the boy's head. He hugged it close, burying his face in the plush fabric.

Gibbs had spent enough time with the formalities of talking things through, and wasted no time landing the first smack.

"Ow," Sydney commented sincerely.

**SWAT. SWAT. SWAT. SWAT.**

"Why are you getting this spanking, Sydney?"

"Ow! Gibbs! We already talked 'bout that, didn't we?" He was quickly losing his stoic composure, much to his dismay.

Gibbs tilted him forward and smacked the inside of the boy's thigh, eliciting a small yelp.

"Ah! F-for drinking and smoking- ahOW!"

"And?" **SWAT. SWAT.**

"For disobeying and lying!"

"Good boy," Gibbs encouraged, continuing to fuel the fire building up in Sydney's backside.

For his part, Sydney figured he was taking it 'like a man,' or so he told himself repeatedly. Not that he'd had much practice. His actual god-given parents had never taken him in hand, in any form of the word, outside the occasional backhand from his father. Mentally, he both needed and had a strong aversion to being close to such a figure, minus the occasional backhand. Especially in a way that was so much more personal than a simple scolding, or grounding, or even the notion of a mouthsoaping Gibbs had threatened him with for bad language (_he was bluffing, I'm sure Sydney thought_). But physically there was no way around how hellish a hurt a spanking could be. Gibbs was landing swats so fast Syd wasn't even aware he'd meant to keep count and forgotten to, or that hot, salty tears were irritating the corners of his eyes, or even that he was secretly happy someone cared enough about him to worry about whether or not he toed the line, or be there to teach him instances in which the line might move around.

He cried. Whether it was the sting in his butt or the burn of disappointment, he was aware of nothing but the unpleasant warmth of the whole ordeal.

The only moment he actually felt in any control of harshest walloping he'd _ever _received was when Gibbs whispered down an "almost done, son," and Sydney began to count down the last 10 or 12 swats, as the phrase indicated.

**SWAT. SWAT. **

The last two were the hardest of the whole lot of them, and he couldn't stifle the final, shouted "OW!"

But finally, it stopped. Sydney lay limp, sobbing into his pillow, wanting to reach back and soothe his burning ass, but unable to retract his arms, squished beneath the pillow. And anyway, Gibbs wasn't moving, either.

Sydney felt a calloused hand card through his hair. Gibbs rested it on the boy's sweaty neck and massaged gently.

"You okay down there, son?" Gibbs inquired softly.

Sydney bit back the clever retort with little effort and nodded.

"Then why are you crying?"

"It hurt," he whispered, vigorously trying to keep his lower lip from assuming a pout.

"It's supposed to, boy. But from what I know about you, and I know quite a bit about you," Gibbs mused, cutting off Sydney's protest, "you don't usually let things like this get to you."

There was a pause, and Sydney opened his mouth. "It's just- it's just..." but he began to sob again and cursed himself for being such a bawler.

"Easy, buddy, ssshsh," Gibbs soothed, rubbing the boy's back. "You don't have to talk about it."

"N-no, I want to-I..." he forced the tears down his throat. "It's j-just- that- I'm not even your son, I'm not-"

"Joey's not my daughter, Sydney, but she's about to be in the same position you are."

"N-n-not-" he'd meant to say that it wasn't the same, not the same at all, but his mind followed his hoarse scream right out of his throat and ended up as "why do you care so much?!"

_Poor kid__**, **_Gibbs thought, _had the unfortunate experience of being born into a world where blood and family ties __meant everything, were everything. Damn mob families were inter-consultive, and rarely extended. _

"How would you know the difference," Gibbs countered tenderly. "Your family wasn't a great example of caring, was it?"

The floodgates opened again. "No. No!" He refused to be coherent, just _refused._ _Sydney, you baby, just drop it, it's-_

"-stupid. Forget it, Gibbs!"

"Shut up, Sydney, and listen!" Gibbs barked gingerly, thumping the boy on the back of the head to quiet him, mumbling something inaudible about the kid being more trouble than he was worth. "It's not stupid. It's your life."

Sydney looked over his shoulder at Gibbs. "That supposed to help?" He demanded weakly. "My life sucks."

_Stubborn little imp. _"You're almost a teenager, Sydney, isn't it supposed to suck?"

"Is it?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"I'm doomed then."

Gibbs sighed. "Now, Syd, you're going to have to be patient with me while I figure out how to do these things right," he paused a moment, thinking of the best thing to say. When he got it, he picked up where he left off. "Syd," his expression betrayed none of the false easiness of his voice or the euphoniously soothing way it seemed to calm the boy. "Sometimes you can't win either way you go. Counting your family's..._flaws_ as a battle lost is unreasonable."

"I keep finding it increasingly difficult to be _reasonable_," Sydney whispered. "But I suppose that's the teenager part."

"Mr. Salvador, that's the most reasonable thing you've said since I met you."

Sydney pursed his lips, blowing out a defeated raspberry.

"Come on, up you get." Gibbs lifted the boy to a standing position, scrutinizing him for a moment.

Sydney, caught off guard, quickly tried to hide his tear-streaked face in his arm, pretending to rub his nose.

Gibbs pulled him into a hug, which, unusually, the boy did not resist. He wrapped his wiry arms around Gibbs waist and allowed his guardian to stroke his hair meaningfully, relaxing into the even undulation of the man's ever-reliable gut.

"The point is, Sydney, that you'll have a home here as long as you need one."

He nodded, exhaling against the smooth cotton, recoiling as the hot breath curled up in the fabric and pushed back at his face. Gibbs let him go and turned away to right the pillows on the boy's bed, pretending not to notice him taking the opportunity to scowl and gingerly rub his burning backside.

"Send Joey in."


	9. Intermission

Joey was not in the hallway.

Sydney half-expected her to materialize abruptly in a darkened doorway somewhere along his walk down the hall to search for her, if only to scare him. That was the sort of thing she would do, for between them was a constant battle of one-ups, and being in trouble certainly didn't mean practical jokes were off the table.

"Sydney?"

Syd pivoted wildly on the spot, got an eyeful of his foster sister, and doubled over, clutching his racing heart.

"Dammit, you buttmuncher, don't _do_ that," he croaked. "I'm in enough pain without having a cardiac infection."

"That's in_farction_, Sydney – if you're going to hang with Ducky, pay more attention to him," she muttered, her failed attempt at sounding blithe bubbling into a somber sympathy. "What happened?"

"You'll find out in a minute," he whispered bitterly, straightening his back. There was a popping noise, and he cringed. Joey bounced from foot to foot impatiently, and Sydney noticed she'd already changed out of her party clothes and into pajama shorts and a t-shirt.

"You know what I mean, you big baby," she lifted a finger to point momentarily at his reddened eyes. "What happened?"

"Ah, nothing," he stammered, flushing unnoticeabley in the dim light. "You were right," he shrugged, "it hurt."

She looked skeptical, as always, when her partner-in-crime was in pain of any kind and refused to talk about it. Not that she wasn't annoyingly stubborn as well, but they were so linked to each other what bothered one seemed to perpetually plague the other. She didn't have time to press him further, however, before Gibbs, growing impatient, cracked open the bedroom door and summoned her inside.

Joey nodded quickly and began to pace backward toward the danger zone, tossing a reassuring smile in Sydney's direction.

Gibbs shut the door.

Sydney headed for the bathroom to survey the damages done to his poor ass, feeling for the light switch. His fingers caught on a thin strip of paper shoved in the crevice created between the switch and the wall. He smacked the light, illuminating the room, and removed the paper with careful hands.

Joey's untidy scrawl bled through both sides of the soap wrapper. Sydney scanned it in a daze.

Inside the bedroom, Joey ducked her head to hide her pleasant reaction to stifled laughter across the hall.

Sydney tossed the note into the trash can and opened the drawer to find the toothpaste.

_Like you said -_

_whipped._


	10. The Art of Negotiation

"Joey."

Joey, still facing the door, did not turn around, but gazed dolefully over her shoulder with pallid green eyes fixed on Gibbs, but somehow distracted, as if she had only responded in reflex and was actually deep in thought, unaware.

"Joey. _Joey,_" Gibbs murmured sternly.

She nodded, snapped out of her reverie. "Sorry, Gibbs."

_You will be._

"Gibbs, can I ask you something before you reduce me to a mucky puddle of tears?"

He sighed diffidently, but allowed that bit of melodramaticism to slide. "Hmm?"

"Is Sydney going to leave?"

That snapped _him_ out of _his_ reverie, and he met her concerned stare with hardened blue eyes. "No – where did that come from?"

She retracted. "Nowhere – he was just... upset in the hallway and wouldn't tell me why when I asked."

"He's not going anywhere."

"Okay." It was a quick reply, but Joey had no qualms or further questions on the subject of Gibbs' will. He could be as solid as Gibraltar at times on subjects not nearly as touchy as the current one, thus, if he said Syd was staying, that was fine by her.

"Anything else before I reduce you to a mucky puddle of tears, as you say?"

She shook her head. "No, sir."

"Over here, then." He snapped his fingers and pointed to the her bed, on which he took a seat.

"Will my punishment be worse than Sydney's?"

Gibbs sighed a long, exhausted sigh. "_What?_"

"Well, I mean – 'cause I screwed up the most. Mine should be worse, right?"

"Joey, I don't base your punishments on the amount of _guilt _you feel for what you've done or what someone else has _not_ done."

A pause. The confused look on Joey's face was so priceless _Gibbs _was almost taken aback.

"Isn't- isn't that the point?" she ventured.

"Isn't what the point?"

"Of the punishment – to make us feel guilty."

"Joey, I can't _make_ you feel guilty. I can only hope that you realize what you did was wrong."

"Oh. Oh, I do, Gibbs. Does that mean you don't have to spank me?"

_There it is_, Gibbs mulled briefly. _Classic Joey._

"No, I still have to spank you."

"Okay. I was just wondering."

"No, you were stalling. Any _more_ stalling, and I'll put you in the corner when we're done to make up for time wasted now."

Joey swallowed hesitantly, aware it was more than a hollow threat.

"Come on," he ordered placidly. Joey shuffled over and laid herself lengthwise over her godfather's lap, not needing to be told twice to put her hands behind her back.

**SMACK.**

Against her almighty (and rapidly diminishing) will, Joey clenched her teeth together to restrain the yelp. Before the initial, unpleasant tingle of the first swat had even settled, Gibbs' hand descended again and again, and the stinging heat in her backside became worse, if possible, by the second.

**SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. **

"Why are you getting this spanking, Joey?"

She'd been waiting for him to ask. He always asks.

"For disobeying and lying ahOW! Ow! Gibbs!"

"And?"

"UhOW! What else is there?"

"Three, two-"

"Oh, oh, OW! Wait, I remember! For stealing y-your bourbon!" she cried somberly.

"Good girl."

For a fleeting, happy moment Joey believed that the end of the horror was nigh, but Gibbs showed none of the usual signs of relenting. She began to squirm, and in a split second a sweaty hand freed itself from it's human handcuffs and flew back to protect her burning ass.

"You know what will happen if you don't move your hand."

Grateful Gibbs had decided not to pursue her plea for a harsher punishment, Joey really did_ not_ want to lose her shorts. Slowly, she pulled her hand back to the small of her back.

Gibbs finished up quickly, tipping her forward for the last few smacks, ignoring her tears until the finish, when he just-as-quickly set her back on her feet and pulled her into his lap.

"'m-'m sorry, Gibbs." she choked out, burying her face into his chest.

"Ssshhsh, baby, it's over. I forgive you."

"Did you forgive S-Sydney?" she whimpered pitifully, gazing up with those beautiful green eyes he never was able to fully resist.

"Yes, Joey. I forgive the both of you for being boneheaded idiots and pulling all those crazy stunts."

Joey chuckled quietly and Gibbs planted a kiss on the top of her head.

"Alright, hush now," he enjoined amiably. "Bed." He stood, lifting her into his arms and pulling the blankets and sheets back from the headboard. She wriggled out of his cradle, cringing as she clambered into the warmth of the bed and rolled onto her stomach, hugging the pillow close.

One last kiss and a promise to send Sydney in in five minutes and Gibbs was at the door.

"Goodnight, Joey. I love you."

"Love you, too, Gibbs," she murmured, falling asleep already.

----

On cue, Sydney tiptoed in about five minutes later, coming to a looming halt over his sister's bed.

"Joey? You awake?"

"Yes."

Satisfied for the moment, he took a seat on his own bed a few feet away.

"You okay?"

She rolled over and nodded.

"Some day, huh?"

There was an awkward pause, but their eyes locked and consensual laughter filled the room for a few seconds.

"Yeah, man, some day."

"You know, you were right, Jo – this was all my fault."

She shrugged, pulling her arms behind her head.

Sydney grinned. Joey grinned.

"The Killers!" they whispered loudly in unison.

"_So_ worth it-"

"Oh, yeah. I'd do that again in a heartbeat-"

"Those last two songs were _awesome_!"

Joey sighed, relieved, and Sydney hopped into bed. They rolled away from each other.

"Good night, Sydney."

"Good night, Joey."

A few seconds passed.

"Sydney?" Joey queried.

"Joey?" he mumbled in response.

"We are _never _doing that again."

"Agreed."

**the end.**


End file.
